


She Can Look Now

by ArtyArtillery



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtyArtillery/pseuds/ArtyArtillery
Summary: Julia is curious about Carmen's scars.
Relationships: Julia "Jules" Argent/Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep
Comments: 2
Kudos: 77





	She Can Look Now

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a [tumblr prompt](https://yyuppys.tumblr.com/post/643563452426813440/c-c-can-someone-please-write-or-draw-or-imagine-or) from yyuppys.

A streak of early morning sunlight slips between the blackout curtains and spills across the bed, washing parts of the room with a warm glow. Julia is awake, but hasn’t moved from her place in the bed. Her glasses are just there, on the nightstand, but she doesn’t need them to see Carmen. They are already so close together; their proximity bringing her into sharp focus.

Usually, thanks to the harrowing nature of their jobs, there is only time enough to glance. For a quick once-over to ensure the other’s safety. To confirm the lack of any critical injuries. And that’s if they get to see each other in the first place. Sometimes, Carmen is so exquisitely beautiful, and so radiant, that Julia cannot bear to look at her at all.

But she can look now.

Carmen is still asleep, her dark lashes resting resolutely against her cheeks, her magnificent mane of red hair flaring over the pillow. Julia’s eye follows it down, over Carmen’s chest as it steadily rises and falls with every breath, and then over the generous curve of her hip. There, at the crook of Carmen’s waist, is the end of a thin scar; a bit paler than the rest of her brown skin, and slightly raised. Julia felt it more than saw it during their activities the night before.

Unbidden, Julia’s hand reaches out to touch it again, and her fingertips trace it around Carmen’s waist and up her back, swooping around the bottom of her ribcage.

“That was from Coach Brunt,” Carmen says, her voice low and thick with sleep. Julia looks up, her ears heating up, to find Carmen awake. Her gray eyes are still half-hooded.

“She threw me into a table.”

“Does it hurt?” Julia asks, her voice hushed.

“No.”

Carmen makes no move to leave, so Julia continues. Her hands skate over a curious crisscrossing of thin, shiny scars over the outsides of Carmen’s forearms. All different lengths, and different ages judging from the colors.

“Defensive wounds,” Julia whispers.

Carmen makes a vague sound of agreement. “Always protect the face.”

Julia is hard-pressed to agree. For all the marks on Carmen’s arms, there are hardly any on her face. Her hand comes to a rest on the outside of Carmen’s shoulder, where a jagged scar zig-zags up her deltoid.

“And this one?”

Doubt flashes across Carmen’s eyes, her face guarded.

“Carmen?”

“A hang-gliding accident,” Carmen whispers, sounding deliberately too casual. _Stockholm_ remains unsaid, but a wave of cold dread washes over Julia anyway. She must have made a face, because Carmen lays a hand on Julia’s cheek, saying, “No, come on, Jules. Don’t. You’ve apologized for that so many times already, and it wasn’t even your fault.”

“Yes, it was.” Julia doubts she could ever forget how the tangled heap of twisted metal and red canvas that was once Carmen’s hang glider looked like against the powdered snow, nor how Carmen herself looked like as she was strapped to the helicopter lift. Pale. Half-dead.

“Look at me, Jules. _Look at me._ I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t trust you.” Carmen’s thumb swipes over Julia’s cheek. Julia leans into the touch, and turns to kiss Carmen’s palm.

“I suppose, but I’d prefer if I weren’t used to bait you into dangerous situations,” she murmurs. The corners of Carmen’s mouth quirk up.

“Okay, but you’d be worth the trouble every time.”

Julia’s heart fills fit to burst. It shouldn’t be possible to love someone so much, but here she is, and there is Carmen softly beaming at her. She scoots forward and kisses Carmen. It’s languid and sweet. Unhurried. Thorough.

* * *

It’s not a big deal. It really isn’t; Carmen forgets that these scars even exist, and the people responsible—the people _truly_ responsible—are no longer around to cause further trouble, but she isn’t about to argue when Julia is so earnest.

Julia slowly rolls Carmen over until her shoulder blades hit the mattress, then pulls away with a final nip to Carmen’s bottom lip. She cuts quite the sight, with her sleep-tousled black hair backlit by the golden sunlight, and her dark eyes bright with mischief. She moves, her slender frame half-lying on Carmen, half-braced on her elbows, so that she can press a kiss to the scar on Carmen’s shoulder.

Carmen’s breath comes out in a whoosh as Julia hums and moves further down, placing kisses over each scar along the way, and some extras besides, each one burning on her skin.

“What are you doing?” She asks. The question is totally superfluous. Julia shoots her a knowing glance.

“I could apologize a little more, don’t you think?”

Carmen strongly suspects that Julia fully intends to spend the rest of her life making up for Stockholm, which is a nice sentiment, but is it necessary?

Can’t they just spend the rest of their lives together like this anyway? Without the guilt? Carmen will get around to asking that eventually. When she knows how to say it. Judging from the way her stomach clenches when she thinks about it, it must be important. And it’s not like she’s her usually-eloquent self at the moment.

Julia moves further down still, past a scar on the outside of Carmen’s thigh (an electric burn, from a crackle rod) and to another on her knee (a childhood scrape, from climbing trees), before she dips down to taste her.

**Author's Note:**

> This is spicier than I intended lol


End file.
